


Yule Ball

by publius_ham



Series: sappypotter's prompts [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, ? ish, AU, First Kiss, M/M, Yule Ball, french!draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 12:17:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9607256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/publius_ham/pseuds/publius_ham
Summary: “Merlin, Ron.” They were both blushing so hard the entire room felt hotter. “Thanks for being supportive, really, but you do realize you’re suggesting that I take Draco Malfoy for a sodding date, right?”





	1. Will You Do Me The Honour Of

Harry Potter wanted time to stand still.

Partly because he had no date for upcoming Yule Ball - even though it was starting in less than half an hour. 

But mostly because _there was no one left to ask._

“What about Cho,” Ron offered, straightening his tie in front of the smudged mirror of their common room. If anything he was making it worse, but Harry didn’t have the heart to tell him. “Isn’t she -”

“Already going with Justin Finch-Fletchley,” Harry said miserably.

“Hannah, then.” Ron turned his head to look at him. “Hannah Abbott.”

“Neville.”

“Parvati?”

Harry snorted. “I doubt she’d go with either of us.”

“Yeah, but I, in comparison to you, already have a date, so I, in comparison to you, don’t have to go through desperate measures to get one.”

“Would Hermione hurt me if I murdered you right now?”

Ron barked with laughter. “Considering she’s been doing her hair for three hours, she’d kill you dead.”

Harry groaned again, and flopped on the bed. “I’m the sodding _chosen one_ ,” he complained, wanting to just jump off the Gryffindor tower to be done with it all, “and I’m the only bloody person going to this Ball without a date.”

“That isn’t exactly true.”

Harry immediately popped up, his eyes wide and hopeful. “Oh! Who hasn’t -”

“You’re not going to like who it is.” Ron interrupted, his cheerful mood gone. 

“Ron, tell me.”

“You’d rather go alone than date this person, trust me.”

“Ron -”

Ron sighed long and deep, and said in a tone as if he was predicting Harry’s imminent doom, “Malfoy.”

Harry blinked. Then, blinked again. “What?”

“Malfoy,” Ron croaked, and he grimaced. “I heard from Hermione that she heard from Parvati who heard from Pansy that - well, he hasn’t got a date, too.”

All Harry could do was stare at Ron. “And you are suggesting that I…”

“Well, to be honest, if I were you I’d be going stag,” they both snorted at the same time, but Ron quickly sobered and continued, “but if you’re really, really desperate…”

“I am, but -”

“And you said that…” Ron quickly turned to hide his blush - didn’t work, but Harry was never going to say that - “well, you said last summer that you had.. doubts about your… your _feelings_ towards men -”

This time Harry really, really wanted to jump off the tower. “Yes.”

“And, well, Malfoy is a _man_ -”

“Merlin, Ron.” They were both blushing so hard the entire room felt hotter. “Thanks for being supportive, really, but you do realize you’re suggesting to take _Draco Malfoy_ for a sodding date, right?”

“Well.” Ron cleared his throat, turned around and smiled again. “Live and let live, no? If it saves me the trouble of needing to entertain _your_ arse all night -”

Harry grinned, and flipped him the finger. “Ta, mate.”

Ron curtsied. “My pleasure. Oh, and, Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“If you are planning to ask him, at all,” he nodded towards the clock hanging above their door, “I’d better hurry, seeing as you’ve only got ten minutes.”

Harry cursed, and quickly bolted out of the room.

 

It didn’t take him very long to find Malfoy. 

Partly because Malfoy was pretty recognizable with his blonde, shining hair, his tall legs that seemed to go on for miles, and the sneer that you could spot from leagues away.

(But mostly because Harry’d had years of practice looking for him.)

“Malfoy,” he finally sighed when he reached him, and unable to contain his enthusiasm, he grinned up (and up and _up_ ) at him. “Hi.”

Malfoy looked at his friends - who all shrugged at the same time - and then back at Harry, his face puzzled. “Er, hi? Potter, what do you want?”

“Well,” Harry took a deep breath and said; “I heard from Ron who heard from Hermione who heard from Parvati who heard from Pansy,” he gave a nod towards Parkinson, who just stared at him as if he’d lost his marbles, “that you haven’t got a date for this ball.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t. But what’s it to you?”

“Well, you see,” Harry cleared his throat, “McGonagall asked me to be one of the people to open the dance, she explained _why_ but I forgot -” 

Zabini snorted. 

Malfoy ignored him, his gaze stuck on Harry with a fierce intensity that should’ve scared Harry.

(But it didn’t.)

“- and, well,” he tried not to blush, “I haven’t got a date, which is kind of a problem, and I realized…”

“That I was your last shot?” Malfoy sneered. “No, thanks, Potter, I don’t fancy being a charity case. Not even for the bloody _saviour_.” He nudged Parkinson, and growled, “Let’s just go.”

“No! Wait!” Harry quickly jumped, and grabbed Malfoy’s forearm.

They all stilled.

Malfoy just stared at his arm, at Harry’s hand holding him, and then back at Harry’s face with such a _torn_ look on his face, as if he both wanted to run away and hold his hand there forever.

(And honestly, Harry felt the same.)

Harry stepped closer. “Listen,” he said, this time softer for a reason he couldn’t even begin to explain, “yes, I’m desperate. Yes, I should’ve gotten a date earlier. But, Malfoy…” He cleared his throat, wiggled his feet gingerly and looked up (and up and up) to Malfoy’s face. 

And Malfoy was _blushing_.

Sneering, his eyebrows knotted and his eyes on fire, but blushing.

And Harry couldn’t help but smile. “I’d love to go with you to the ball.”

Malfoy stared at him. 

“Please?” Harry added, wiggling on his feet again, unable to contain his anxiety and nerves wrecking through his system. “I mean, I don’t want to force you but you’re just - and I’m -”

“Okay,” Malfoy said softly, and he smiled back. It was a small, nervous smile, but it was enough for Harry. “I’ll go with you.”

Harry felt like his face was going to break in two from his wide smile. “Oh! Okay! Good! Well -”

“On one condition.”

“Anything!”

Malfoy’s smile turned into a grin, and he leaned in closer, his lips a second away from Harry’s, and he whispered, “If you dare to step on my toes during the dance, I will honest to god _murder_ you and drop your body in the lake.”

“Honestly,” Harry whispered back, “if you wouldn’t, I’d be disappointed.”

And when Malfoy laughed, how could Harry not kiss him for it?

So he did.

(Again, and again, and _again_ , until they were ripped apart by Malfoy’s friends and a booming voice announcing the beginning of the Yule Ball.)

Harry Potter wanted time to stand still.

If only to be in this moment forever, holding Draco Malfoy’s hand tightly in his own, smiling at the crowd because for once in his life he was genuinely _happy._


	2. French

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry had never understood French.  
> Understanding the fire in Draco's eyes whenever the boy would look at him, however, was an entire different story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oovvUby2LDQ&feature=youtu.be) is the song I used. 
> 
> (If you are able - I'd highly recommend you to listen to it while reading this!)

In retrospect, it had been a huge mistake to go to the Yule Ball with Draco Malfoy.

He was still a git. He still muttered insults under his breath every time Harry accidentally stepped on his toes. He still sneered down at Harry now and again, as if it was instinct to do so, his hands tightening almost painfully.

But that all didn’t matter the second Draco would look him in the eye again, with that small smile playing at his lips – a smile that ignited a hot pang of warmth in Harry’s chest every time he saw it. The smile was always so quick, so fleeting, and it felt like a secret – a secret smile for Harry, and Harry alone.

And they were _dancing._

They had _kissed._

It almost hurt, looking at Draco – at those pale eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, or the white puffy strands of hair standing out at base of his neck, to look at the marble skin just barely visible above his tie.

It almost hurt, but Harry couldn’t get himself to look away.  

“Harry,” Draco suddenly said, and he stilled in his movements. The song they had been dancing to slowly came to an end, and Harry tilted his head up (and up and _up_ ) to look at him. “I’ll be right back.”

Harry arched a brow. “What are you –”

“Two seconds.” Draco let him go – Harry almost whined at the loss of contact – but then grabbed Harry’s hand softly in his own, and kissed his palm.

Then, before Harry could recollect his thoughts (or get his heart to calm down) Draco had disappeared in the masses.

As if he’d unconsciously cast a summoning charm, Ron appeared at his side.

“Hi, mate,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “I see you’re enjoying yourself?”

“Oh, sod off,” Harry said half-heartedly, and smiled when Hermione joined them. “Hi. You look lovely.”

Her smile was so wide it was almost blinding to look at it. “Oh, thank you, Harry! I made the dress myself, you know,” she fiddled with the hem of the pink dress, and her smile turned almost nervous. “Molly helped a bit with the details, but –“

“’Mione,” Ron groaned, “I doubt Harry is in the mood for this.”

Hermione snorted. “Right. Of course. We’ll leave you, Harry.” She leaned forward on her toes to kiss Harry on his cheek, smiling when he immediately blushed from head to toe. “Good luck.” Without waiting for Ron to answer, she pulled her boyfriend towards the other dancing people, and resolutely started spinning him around.

Harry shot Ron an apologetic smile.

_Where was Draco?_

The music around them suddenly switched from upbeat to a slow-dance song - and all around Harry, couples immediately pulled their dates closer (some even started kissing, much to the dismay of the teachers.)

Before Harry could turn to look around where _his_ date had gotten to, two hands gripped Harry’s side from behind, holding him in place. 

“What the -”

Draco was chuckling behind him, and tucked Harry closer. “Shh, it’s just me.”

Harry immediately relaxed, and turned around, wrapping his arms around Draco’s side. (How could this feel so comfortable? How could it feel as if they had done this forever, Draco’s hand in Harry’s hair as he laid his head on Draco’s shoulder, their breaths synchronizing, their feet twirling around with the soft melody of the piano?)

When the band began to sing - Harry jolted.

The song was _French_.

Why were they -

“At my request,” Draco whispered, as if he knew what Harry was thinking, and he pushed Harry’s chin up to look at him. As if unable to help himself, Draco smiled, his face lighting up brighter than the sun. “I hope you don’t mind -”

“Of course I don’t.” Harry smiled up (and up and _up_ ) at him. Draco’s eyes were shining underneath the candlelight. “I like French.”

“Oh, in that case -” Draco grinned mischievously, and suddenly started singing along softly, so soft only Harry could hear, “ _Pas sans toi, je ne la vivrai pas cette vie là,”_

Harry’s heart almost stopped right then and there.

It was just a different language?

Why did it feel as if Draco was speaking dirty words in his ear, boiling Harry’s blood in his veins, the twirling hot pang in Harry’s chest only growing more and more painful?

_“Si tu me reprenais dans tes bras_ ,” Draco continued, oblivious to Harry’s inner turmoil, his eyes focused only on him, a gaze so fierce and hot and oh _god_ - “ _On pourrait reconstruire tout ça_ ,”

Why did Draco look like he was about to cry?

Did he think Harry thought it wasn’t beautiful?

Because, fuck, it _was_. The words might make no sense to Harry, but they were sung so hauntingly beautiful, every word sounding as if Draco’s voice was about to crack from an overload of emotions - it sounded as if Draco was pouring his heart out to Harry, telling him secrets he could never tell him in English.

Harry didn’t speak French.

He did, however, have his own way of showing how he felt.

So, to stop Draco from serenading to him in French - however much Harry loved it - he jumped up, wrapping his arms around Draco’s neck, and kissed him feverishly.

At first Draco froze.

Then, so fast it left Harry breathless, he picked Harry up, gripping him so hard it would surely bruise, and he kissed _back_ \- all hot breath and sharp teeth and an almost painful _need._  

Maybe, Harry thought giddily, gripping Draco’s hair to get closer, closer, _closer_ \- going to the Yule Ball with Draco Malfoy hadn’t been such an awful idea, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me at [Tumblr](https://www.sappypotter.tumblr.com) / [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/sappyEliza)
> 
> Original post: [here](http://sappypotter.tumblr.com/post/156000235012/ive-been-thinking-what-if-theres-a-ball-at)

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me at [Tumblr](https://www.sappypotter.tumblr.com) / [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/sappyEliza)
> 
> Original post: [here](http://sappypotter.tumblr.com/post/155344169077/5-for-the-drarry-prompt-thing-love-your)


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